Untitled
by Write Here2
Summary: On a trip to an idyllic off-world town, Beckett, McKay and Lorne are caught up in an unexpected disaster. Meanwhile, back on Atlantis, a simple, innocent-looking computer glitch threatens to grow into something much larger. ON HIATUS DUE TO WRITERS BLOCK.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - I really didn't expect this to be up so soon, but I can't figure out what else to do with it, so - read and enjoy. Oh, and if anyone has a good idea for a title, do let me know. I'm stuck. Please review! Thanks.

* * *

Carson brushed another piece of jungle detritus from his eye and tried not to look too irritable. He had been so temperamental on this trip that even Rodney had been annoyed. The heat, and the humidity, not to mention the millions of bugs that had decided he was a virtual smorgasbord, were getting to the doctor. After the fifth time that his complaints had drawn looks of increasing annoyance from the normally collected Lorne, he'd taken the hint. Since then, Beckett had been quiet. He'd even tried to be helpful, as far as his limited jungle hiking skills allowed.

"Nearly there, Doc." Lorne said. He sounded much calmer now; much more his usual self.

"Aye. Good."

"Ah, it's not so bad." The Major insisted. "I've been places worse than this."

"Aye, me too. Doesn't mean – never mind."

Lorne grinned. He clapped a hand on the doctor's back. Apparently Beckett's efforts to shut up had not gone unnoticed – or unappreciated. "Don't worry about it. We'll get you there in one piece. Oh-" the Major dug around in a side pocket of his pack, producing a small, squat can. "Try this."

Beckett took a closer look. Bug spray. He stared at it reverentially, and sprayed the recommended dose on and around himself. It smelt peculiar, but the number of mosquito-esque creatures around him dropped instantly. "Thank you."

"Not a problem."

The Major was off to the front of the pack before Beckett could add anything else. He and Thomas were leading the group, with McKay and Beckett protected in the middle. Sergeant Lawrence and the new kid – Carson had already forgotten his name – brought up the rear. They had been walking for nearly four hours. The small town was on the other side of the narrow jungle strip. It was, apparently, a sight to behold. That, and the promise of medical wonders, were all that had persuaded Beckett to come along. _Well_, the doctor though, _the sights, the learning opportunities, and the idea that I might be able to get Rodney to leave me alone for a while!_ He scowled at his friend, who walked alongside with an ambling gait.

Rodney glared back at him. "Well it's not my fault you gave in."

"I suppose, but it's your fault for everything else."

"Like what?"

"Like the fact that that I'm getting bitten alive!"

Beckett stopped himself from saying anymore. He took a deep breath, and quickened his pace. It would not do for the mission to be ruined by a doctor who could not control his temper. Behind him, McKay stared, open-mouthed at his irrationally short-tempered friend. Lawrence stopped next to him.

"He really hates this weather, huh?"

Rodney shrugged. "Don't know what he's complaining about. Scotland's nothing. Gets much colder in Canada."

Just a few paces ahead, Carson caught the whispered conversation. He grinned, relieved to be finding something funny on this godforsaken planet. Just then, as he was about to sink into self-perpetuated misery once more, Lorne held up a hand. The Major straightened up, and marched into a clearing. Carson followed nervously. He stopped dead.

"Oh my God." He whispered.

It truly was one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. The harsh jungle suddenly gave way to lush fields and grasses, plummeting on one side into a canyon. A massive river cascaded over the edge. The waterfall had to be nearly as big as Victoria Falls. To the right, a small path heralded the start of civilization. A gate stood across it, linked to the subtle fencing that the township had installed along the town's perimeter.

The first buildings were just visible from their vantage point. They were made of huge stone blocks, five or six times the size of a normal house brick on Earth. Carson managed to close his jaw finally. The rustic feel – thick plates of terracotta slate for the roofs and lush 'gardens' used to grow vegetables and fruit at every opportunity – made this look like something from a dream.

"Pretty amazing, huh, Doc?"

Lorne's grin was soon mirrored on Carson' face. "Aye, it is at that." The doctor stepped forward to peer tentatively down at the canyon. It plunged away from him, dizzyingly high. Beckett stepped away quickly.

"Yeah, McKay did that too." The Major confided.

Carson's grin widened. It was easy to become lost in that sudden distance. All too easy. Then, of course, the next thing you knew was that the water's crashing surface was rushing up to meet you. He shivered at the idea.

They quickened their pace now that there was no jungle to fight through. The path meandered lazily through the thick trees, but it was so picturesque, catching sight of the waterfall at every opportunity, that Beckett found it hard to care. He was transfixed by the place. It was only McKay's insistent chatter, now that he was not out of breath, which kept the doctor attached to reality.

"Beckett? Beckett!"

He snapped out of it, ready to bark something irritable at Rodney, before realizing that they had arrived at their destination. "Oh my God."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Is that all we're going to get out of you today? I keep telling everyone, there's less reason to believe in God than there is to believe in the Tooth Fairy."

"And that is why Lieutenant Hadley hates him." Lawrence muttered, gesturing over his shoulder to one of Atlantis' newest recruits.

"Christian?" Beckett asked.

The sergeant nodded. "Catholic."

If the scenery by the town gate had been beautiful, the town itself looked spectacular, to a certain eye. The heavy stone blocks they had glimpsed before were in evidence everywhere. The front doors and the windows were all constructed with thick, dark wood that looked weathered enough to have been in place for centuries. Shops were advertised by hanging wooden signs, suspended from the stone walls. They were split between ground level and raised sites, where wooden steps lead up to long decks and carefully designed balcony entrances.

The people were milling about, between loaded market stalls and homes. Everyone seemed to have their front doors wide open – even those who were patently rich. The stalls themselves were filled with the freshest fruits and vegetables. Several also had interesting wooden hand-crafted objects. Carson followed Lorne, who was taking a closer look at the produce. The doctor examined some of the mystery wooden items. One looked very much like a flute.

"It's a very nice thing, ain't it?"

Carson jumped, surprised by the broad accent. It reminded him of London. "Aye – yes, it is."

"Can let you have it at a good price…"

It seemed that the persistence of stall holders was truly universal, as Carson found himself being persuaded of the flute's charms. He had to admit, the man knew what he was doing. And the flute itself was a well-worked instrument. Whoever had made it, had managed to incorporate a twisting vine leaf along its entire length. The vine bloomed just before the end of the flute, presumably imitating the music that was supposed to come from it.

"You're a musician, Doc?" Lorne asked, innocently.

Carson shrugged. "Not really."

"Ah, don't be silly! You look just like a musician to me!" the stallholder said. He got extra points, the Scotsman decided, for enthusiasm.

"We can trade for things here, y'know." Lorne whispered. "Did you bring anything good?"

"Spare powerbar, I think." Carson said.

The stallholder's ears pricked up. "That them weird things that come in shiny wrapping? I'll trade you the flute for two of them." He'd traded for one with the first Atlantean team to visit his town, and found them inexplicably delicious.

Carson shook his head. He didn't like to part with the required stash of supplies that every Atlantean brought with them off-world. One spare powerbar would not be enough. Yet the doctor found himself regretting that fact as he stared down at the pretty flute. Lorne rolled his eyes, and held out a spare bar of his own.

"Here." The Major said. "For the greater good."

Carson grinned. He handed over the two bars, and eagerly received his flute in return. "Thanks."

"You won't regret it! Fine piece of merchandise, that!"

The stallholder's cries rang in the ears of the two men as they walked away. Lorne gestured towards a small building that seemed to serve as a café.

"Hungry, Doc? We have a tab."

Carson found himself agreeing unexpectedly. As he walked into the small café, the doctor reflected that he would have to thank Rodney for this particular trip. The feeling of contentment that had washed over him on completing the trade for his wooden flute was increased when the young (and very attractive) woman who obviously served as waitress for the café delivered two steaming cups to their table. Lorne grinned at him and raised the glass.

"Tastes just like coffee, Doc."

He sniffed at it experimentally. "Aye, smells like it too." Carson said.

He sipped the drink, and found it wonderfully layered. Not only did it have a smooth, slightly woody flavor, but there were also hints of something like cinnamon and other spices. Much better than the cheap stuff the Daedalus kept delivering to Atlantis. Carson chuckled to himself. He wondered if Rodney's enthusiasm for this township had anything to do with the contents of the cup in front of him.

The break was very welcome, in truth, and as Lorne explained, very much a part of every visit they'd made so far. It was customary amongst these people – who called themselves Kaledian – to take a brief sojourn after walking such a long way. They had almost been offended when the first group of Atlanteans – SGA-4, if Beckett was not mistaken – had tried to refuse their offers of refreshment. Lorne sat forward to talk, more animated than Beckett had seen him in some time. It seemed that the residents of the town were not just willing to trade, but had actually suggested it first.

Perhaps it was the peace and quiet that lulled them into a false sense of security, or the idea that these people could be so utterly charming, but neither man was prepared moments later when the world seemed to explode.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - This was delayed by a day or two, owing to the fact that I rewrote it about four or five times. I have now had enough of it, and so here it is! Seriously though, I hope its OK, and that you enjoy it. Features a frustrated Zelenka and someone that was requested...

* * *

In the last six or seven hours, everything that could go wrong, had gone wrong. First the coffee machine had exploded, taking with it the last of the city's current supply. It had showered him and three other people with coffee and glass. Fortunately, nobody had been hurt. Next, two of the lab's best technicians had reported in sick. It was a type of flu, according to the duty doctor. Inevitably, some of the scientists had panicked. Several of them were convinced they already had it. Finally, a console in the gateroom had switched itself off.

Zelenka stared at it, tapping his fingers slowly and deliberately along its surface. He swore vehemently. This had not been a good day for the Czech scientist. He thumped the console with the heel of his hand. Nothing happened. He hit it again. Violence had always been a useful tool in dealing with his laptop. The console struggled briefly into life. A few lights flickered before it emitted a high-pitched whine and slumped back into darkness. Zelenka closed his eyes. Six hours on one maintenance project, and the problem still was not solved. Not to mention, his hand was throbbing. Seeing that all other options were exhausted, the scientist swore louder.

"Something wrong?"

He looked up sheepishly. "Colonel. I did not see you there."

"So I gathered."

"This console is not working. I have spent all day trying to reboot or rewire, but nothing."

"Huh."

Zelenka managed to stop himself rolling his eyes. He had the utmost respect for Sheppard. The military CO was a very intelligent man, but at times like this, it was hard to believe he had been entrusted with the military command of Atlantis. It was then that the Czech scientist remembered that McKay was off-world. He let his head fall against the darkened console. It landed with an audible thump.

"Doesn't that hurt?"

"Not enough to give concussion." Zelenka turned his head to the side. "I am in charge today."

Sheppard winced. "Ah."

"I will hear nothing but comments about my incompetence, and how Rodney has to do everything, and-"

"Whoa, whoa." The Colonel held up his hands in mock surrender. "Has he been – getting to you more lately?"

"He won a bet. Has not shut up since."

Obviously deciding that it was better not to know, Sheppard moved onto what he hoped were safer subjects. "So what's wrong with the console?"

"I don't know."

"Anything that could affect the city?"

"I don't think so." Zelenka said dubiously. "But…" he shrugged "…with Ancient technology, who knows?"

"Right…"

"Please. I should work on this now."

At least the Colonel recognizes a dismissal, Zelenka thought uncharitably. The miserable, sulking part of his brain – currently in a majority – muttered that Sheppard had probably come across them often enough. He winced inwardly. That was unfair. He felt a little guilty about it, but in comparison to how unfair Rodney was going to be, it was just amateur. Zelenka picked up his head and tried to refocus on the console in front of him. With the thing still dark, it was hard to convince himself that joining the expedition had ever been worth it.

The console flared briefly to life under his fingertips. For a second, Zelenka allowed himself to hope that this time, it would work. Then the lights started to blink in random patterns. One of the techs sidled over for a closer look. At a glare from the Czech scientist, the man backed off. This had to be the Ancient equivalent of an error message. Zelenka reflected miserably on the idea of karma.

* * *

Lorne spat out a thick glob of dust that had coated the inside of his mouth. His chest was starting to burn with the effort of breathing the smoggy air. Even opening his eyes had stung. Every time the Major rubbed at them with his sleeve, more of the dust settled. He coughed, gasping back air. A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through his chest. He touched the area experimentally. It felt tender. At his best guess, Lorne suspected a broken rib, or two.

He leant back against the large rock he was using as a back rest. Without it, sitting up was a virtual impossibility. The world was still weaving and swaying in front of him. He squeezed his eyes shut. The dust was making them feel gritty. Lorne tried to stay calm. He swallowed thickly. Nausea was rising fast in his throat, and vomiting in this enclosed space was a bad idea. There was more to this than a broken rib. Raising one shaky hand, he probed his head for injury. Just near his right temple, a large, jagged cut was still bleeding.

A thought had settled at the back of his mind, refusing to let go, yet just out of reach. The Major tried to pick it out. A vicious bolt of pain behind his eye made the soldier stop short. He cried out. Lorne's surroundings faded to grey. He had tried to remember, but it was too hard. Persuading the world to stay still was taking enough effort on its own.

It had to be a concussion. He wondered how Colonel Sheppard managed to put up with them. At the thought of his CO – and Atlantis – Lorne sat up a little straighter. His hand flew to his hand. Breathing through the pain, he managed to stagger to shaky feet.

"Right," Lorne said quietly to himself, "how screwed am I?"

* * *

Rodney's hands shook. He tucked them under his arms. Fear had taken hold of the physicist. He had been ambling amongst the market stalls, whiling away some time, when the explosion ripped the small town apart. It was a sudden blast, screaming through his ears. Rodney remembered admiring a pretty necklace. It was just the kind he'd have given to a girlfriend, if he'd had one. He remembered being very glad Sheppard wasn't there to mock him.

Thinking about the necklace kept his mind off other things. The owner had wanted an extortionate price for it. Perhaps he had thought he could scam the visitors. Rodney only remembered the rest in patches. When the explosion happened, he covered his ears. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor, with his arms over his head. There was screaming. Dust billowed out in huge clouds. Chunks of rock hurtled through the air. They smashed through stalls, splintering hundred-year-old tables into matchsticks. One struck a local. It nearly took off his head.

Rodney had been shaking with terror, unable to move. His arms and legs would not cooperate. The street exploded into chaos. People ran back and forth, hardly visible in the choking fog. The screams amplified. McKay scrambled over to the side of the street on his hands and knees. He'd found a hiding place under one of the few undamaged tables, where he sat now.

A hand appeared out of nowhere. It grabbed a handful of his shirt, and dragged the physicist out from under the table. Rodney staggered after his benefactor. They stopped in a side street, where the air was thinner. He rubbed his eyes to clear some of the debris. Lawrence stood in front of him, looking worried.

"Are you alright?"

Rodney nodded dumbly. He was still in shock. His skin was cold to the touch, and breaking out in a fine sweat.

"I sent Thomas back to the gate." Lawrence said. He glanced around. The calm image he cultivated was ruffled, but somehow still in place. "Have you seen Lieutenant Hadley?" Rodney shook his head. It occurred to him that the blast had damaged their hearing – the sergeant was shouting. "Major Lorne? Doctor Beckett?"

Another shake. "I didn't see them."

Lawrence swore. He gave the physicist an appraising look. "Do you know where they went?"

It was hard to shake his head free of the fog. Rodney pushed the sergeant away and staggered to the edge of the side street, using the wall as a guide. The town was still in chaos. His mind wouldn't settle. His heart was still threatening to leap out of his chest. One look back at the sergeant's steady visage made Rodney's swirling mind stop. He steeled himself.

"I didn't _see_ them go anywhere." Rodney said.

"I'm not going to like this, am I?"

The physicist shook his head. "Lorne mentioned that he thought Beckett should try the local coffee." He raised a shaking hand and pointed towards the worst of the chaos.

"You're telling me that somewhere in the middle of that-"

"-our people are waiting for us."

Lawrence was ready to dismiss that thought. Instead, he found himself face-to-face with an angry Rodney McKay. The sergeant shot him an odd look, but said nothing. They both knew how likely it was that any of their people had survived the explosion. Rodney's optimism was uncharacteristic, but his determination wasn't. The dynamic between them shifted another step.

Lawrence smiled. "Alright." He said, finally, clapping a hand to the physicist's shoulder. "Let's go see if anyone's in charge."


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Well, chapter three is up quickly, and I'm working fast on chapter four. After that, the uploading rate will probably drop off quickly, as I've not written anything for it yet! I hope you continue to enjoy the story - I've almost worked out a title for it, I think - so as always, read, enjoy, and please review!

- Oh, I forgot, there's a Czech phrase/word in here, which I'm fairly sure was badly translated, so please excuse me if it's wrong. Also, assuming it is right, it's not particularly polite.

* * *

Lorne stood with one hand against a pile of rock. He didn't lean too heavily, in case the debris shifted. The world had stopped spinning, thankfully, but he was still unsteady on his feet. He felt sick to his stomach. Closing his eyes had only made the sensation worse. Fortunately, the concussion he'd self-diagnosed didn't seem to be a bad one. The confusion which had plagued the Major on waking was clearing fast. His vision was fine, bar the dust, and he didn't feel the drag of sleep that a dangerous concussion might bring.

The annoying thought that had taken up residence at the back of his brain was still unreachable though. He was trying to distract himself from it by taking a closer look at the space he was trapped in. One wall was still mostly intact, though badly damaged. It had been the back of the café. Its survival probably had a lot to do with the fact that it was reinforced, serving also as the back of a large storage area. Rodney had called it a over-sized garage.

The other walls had all been obliterated. He was trapped by a mess of cracked timber and stone on two sides, and what was left of the kitchens on the other. That last side was all hot, twisted metal, stained red with blood. Lorne decided not to move anything. Aside from the growing pain in his ribs, he couldn't know what had become load-bearing. He had no desire to bring the remains of the roof down on his head.

One of the other customers – a man in his early thirties – was sprawled beneath a wooden beam. Lorne made his way over, gingerly stepping across holes in the floor. Every creak or cloud of falling dust made the Major freeze. Finally, he made it. Crouching down cost him, but Lorne managed to kneel by the man's head. He touched two fingers to the side of his neck, and felt for a pulse. There was nothing. This man probably hadn't survived the initial blast. Lorne closed his eyes. He wanted out.

* * *

If Zelenka had been angry before, he was furious now. The console had steadfastly refused to work, following its earlier – brief – flurry of activity. He had tried disconnecting it from the main systems, which was no small task in itself. Then he had reconnected it, disconnected it again, and run every conceivable diagnostic that did not require the thing to be working. According to the technology at his disposal, there was nothing wrong with it. _Except_, Zelenka's mind supplied helpfully, _the fact that it doesn't work_. The only bonus was that the on-duty gate technicians had left him well alone.

"Do prdele!" he snapped, thumping the console again. The gate technicians edged nervously away.

"Anger doesn't solve anything."

Zelenka looked up with a poisonous expression. "Colonel. How can I help you? Or would you also like to shout, because console not working, and you have nothing better to do?"

Sheppard was taken aback. He cleared his throat, and tried to look unaffected. "Actually – a few of the doors in the city seemed to be locked down." He said. "Should I come back later?"

The scientist shook his head tiredly. He waved a hand at a chair, which Sheppard took to mean he was allowed to stay. Still, he sat down gingerly. Zelenka tapped a few keys on a working console, calling up the schematics for the city. He located each of the malfunctioning doors and plotted them on a map. A frown crossed the Czech's face.

Sheppard caught the look. "What?"

"I think we might have a problem."

He dragged the Colonel's chair closer, so that he could see the screen.

"Oh crap."

Each of the doors represented a strategically important access point to a section of the city. Slowly but surely, Atlantis was shutting down.

* * *

McKay stood by the perimeter fencing that had been erected to keep people away from dangerous ruins. The dust had started to clear, blown away by soft winds. He could see the full extent of the damage. He wished he couldn't. The explosion seemed to have originated in a building next to the café. It had taken out not only those two buildings, but also every surrounding structure. A row of small homes across the wide street were badly damaged. Dust lay thick on every surface, evidence of the debris still floating around in the air.

The panic was dying down now. It had threatened to turn ugly, until the town's heavily armed guards – the equivalent of police, McKay supposed – started to take control. The perimeter enclosed the worst affected areas, and was being strictly patrolled. It was a very different picture than the one the Atlanteans had come across earlier. The townspeople had gathered by the fence. They looked frightened. He leaned heavily against the wall of a small shop. It seemed to have more or less escaped harm, aside from smashed windows and a gouge in the brickwork.

"This is a mess."

McKay ignored Lawrence. The sergeant was a good man, but he had an annoying habit of stating the obvious. He watched the locals instead. Lawrence's offers of help had been turned down. Even his own vocal protests that their people were involved too were met with gentle, but stubborn, resistance. He shut up fast after the first body had emerged from a teetering building.

Given the length of the trek back to the gate, help from Atlantis would be some time in coming. Even if Thomas were moving fast, he would still be more than an hour from help. Not for the first time, McKay cursed the decision to make this trip on foot. They had only done so to please the town's leaders.

He couldn't think about that , though. It lead to thoughts about Beckett, Lorne and Hadley. The young Lieutenant was a serious man, deeply interested in politics, art and religion. All of this disguised a wicked sense of humour. Lawrence's assumption that Hadley hated McKay were wrong. They disagreed on many things, but the younger man had taken a distinct interest in science. McKay had found himself explaining Ancient technology. He found Hadley to be good company, even if he was a soldier.

As for the other two – well, Lorne was one of the few people on Atlantis who had earned the physicist's respect. The Major was a good man. McKay's mind shut down at the thought of Beckett in that explosion. It was too cruel. Losing him the first time had been one of the most difficult times in Rodney's life. He blinked back tears and tried to feel positive.

* * *

Just as Zelenka had feared, the problem he had been trying to fix all day was connected with the malfunctioning doors. He was trying to explain as much to Woolsey and Colonel Sheppard. They looked back at him with blank faces. He sighed, and tried again.

"Atlantis has a sort of – virus protection."

"Makes sense." Sheppard said.

"This is like virus."

"I thought you said we had virus protection?" Woolsey sounded confused. He also – and many years of working for bureaucrats had instilled Zelenka with an ability to read them – sounded annoyed.

"OK." Zelenka said. He tried to be patient – after all this was not their area of expertise. "Yes. Virus protection only works if you have protection against that virus. Maybe is better if I say it is like immune system."

He was vaguely aware that a combination of tiredness and a fraying temper was affecting his English.

"And whatever this is, we're not immune?"

"Apparently not." He jumped in before either of them could ask another question. Turning to a large screen displaying a map of Atlantis, Zelenka circled the areas where doors had started to lock down. "We traced a command from these locations that lead back to the malfunctioning console. If we can sever the connection, maybe this will go away."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe not. This virus is very advanced."

"Beyond our own technology?"

"Yes." Zelenka said.

Sheppard's frown deepened. He interrupted just as Woolsey was about to open his mouth. "Radek, how screwed are we?"

He straightened his glasses nervously. "If the command continues to be sent out? Big, big trouble. More access points will be shut off, until Atlantis is reduced to one central point. Probably the gate room."

"No offence, Radek, but could you use McKay here?" Sheppard asked.

"Unfortunately, he is genius. Yes. I could use him here."


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - OK, this chapter represents the last of the pre-prepared parts of this story. After this, we enter uncharted waters... Thanks to those who have reviewed -

**Soon to be world renown** and **BlueDragon007** - Hope there's been enough Lorne for you so far (although this chapter is Lorne-free)

**Deana**, **Lora Perry** and **Asugar** - thanks for your very kind comments.

These guys and those of you who are adding the story to your favourites/story alerts are fast making this one of my most popular stories yet. Scary! By the way, I haven't forgotten about a certain Scot.

Anyways, please read, enjoy, review. Oh, and er, I apologise for the end of this chapter in advance...

* * *

McKay had been standing at the perimeter fence for hours when a strong hand took hold of his arm. He turned to find that he and Lawrence had been accosted by a group of locals. The two men with their hands on the Atlanteans smiled politely.

"You must eat." one of them said.

He tried to turn them down. Lawrence followed suit.

"You will not do your friends any good by exhausting yourselves."

The sergeant shook his head. "I have to wait." He said. He eyed Rodney's shaking hands. "He will go with you, though."

"I-"

"Don't go too far."

They had nodded, apparently at ease with the sergeant's paranoia. Rodney put up a token protest, but it was hard to resist when they sat him down in a large circle, and offered food and drink. He took both. It was past time for him to have eaten. The first helping went quickly. The townspeople refilled his plate. As he ate, they talked.

The woman sat next to Rodney had been asking neutral questions for the last ten minutes, but her expression became serious now. "You know Major Lorne?"

He shook away the images that had been flashing across his mind. "What?"

"Do you know Major Lorne?" she repeated kindly.

"Yes."

"He is a good soldier."

"Yes he is."

She didn't seem at all offended by his curt responses. The Major had become very popular with the locals on their first visit, when he had managed to persuade an adventurous small child that the river leading to the waterfall was a poor choice of play area.

"He will be alright, Doctor McKay. He has strength."

Rodney glared at her. "Really? Have you ever seen someone survive an explosion like that? 'Cause I've seen plenty of people who died that way, but not so many that came out alive."

The woman smiled sadly, and nodded. She began to talk, of other things, like the history of the town. She described some of the plants that surrounded it, and how they were useful. He found himself drawn in by her lilting voice. Once Rodney had begun to calm down, she grew serious again.

"You must believe in your friends, Rodney." It was the first time any of the towns inhabitants had addressed him by his first name.

"It has nothing-" he caught her stern expression and sighed "-alright. Alright, I'll try to – kid myself, I guess."

"Tell me about them."

Their culture had moved on further from its humble roots than the town's visage suggested, but it clung to traditions like storytelling. Rodney wasn't sure what to say at first. Soon though, the words began to spill from his mouth almost faster than he could say them. Nothing that gave away the secrets of Atlantis. Rodney wove tales about friendly competition and childish banter; practical jokes that weren't funny; practical jokes that were hysterically funny; unexpected shows of strength and displays of surprising sensitivity. He held back the little tidbit about the other Beckett's death. Even if it had been appropriate to share, Rodney hated to be reminded of that time.

The locals were only listening out of politeness at first, but were soon laughing in all the right places. A few of the braver ones interjected with stories of their own. The heavy cloak of sadness was temporarily forgotten. McKay started to realize that beneath the town's idyllic exterior lay a community very similar to his own. Just as there was love, humour and generosity, there was also jealousy, anger and hate. The perfect surface was just that. Rodney didn't realize how long they had been talking until Sergeant Lawrence reappeared. The soldier gratefully accepted a cool glass of water, but didn't sit down.

"They need us to identify a body." He said.

Rodney swallowed. He nodded, and got to his feet, helped by Lawrence's iron grip on his left arm. The physicist resisted the temptation to rub the arm gingerly.

One of the local men stood up. "Wait! How – how are the rescue efforts proceeding?"

The eager tone in the young man's voice betrayed his own stake in the situation. Rodney felt guilty. He had been acting as though his own concerns were the only ones that mattered.

Lawrence removed his hat. "Seven bodies so far. No live ones." He said.

They left the group, and walked with reluctance to the perimeter. Two guards were waiting. A medical attendant – something like a nurse, as McKay understood it – was kneeling by a body. It was covered with a thin white sheet, but a military-issue boot emerged from one end. McKay turned to Lawrence and offered the sergeant a tight smile. Together, they stepped through a gap in the perimeter. The attendant muttered brief condolences. He had been through this too many times in the last hour.

"Is this your man?" he asked, peeling back one end of the sheet.

Rodney felt like throwing up. "Yes." He said, choking out the word. "That's – one of ours."


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - Fifth chapter up far sooner than I had anticipated. The last story-and-a-bit have been posted incredibly quickly, and I have to warn you, I'm not always so fast to update. Particularly as I have alot of work in the next week or so that will have to take priority. Still, I'll do my best. Thanks to those of you who have reviewed - obviously, all my readers are fine people for taking a look, but it's nice to have written confirmation that the story is being enjoyed. Things - quite literally - heat up in this chapter, although there are some questions left unanswered.

Please read, enjoy, and (if the mood takes you!) review.

* * *

Sheppard leant against the wall and closed his eyes. The metal was cool to the touch; a relief given the rising temperature. There was sweat beading on his forehead, and staining his shirt. It itched. The Colonel took a deep breath. He savoured the moment of quiet. Since discovering the link between the console and the gradual shut-down of Atlantis, things had grown exponentially worse. The only saving grace was that other people were having a crappier time than him.

The city's entire population was crammed into the gateroom. They had planned to evacuate, first via the Jumper to the mainland, and when that hadn't worked, via the stargate. That had refused to come on-line. Getting everybody out again hadn't been an option – they'd barely got them all in, and the doors were already locking down. Zelenka and his team hadn't been able to even slow its progress; whatever 'it' was.

He had been running interference for the scientist. Every other person – whether civilian or military – was bugging Zelenka for information about what was going on, demanding to know when the situation would be resolved. Sheppard had delegated the job to a couple of eager Marines in the end. There were bonuses to being in charge, after all.

As the air in the gateroom grew hot and humid, tempers had started to fray. The military personel were better behaved on the whole, but Sheppard suspected that had a lot to do with Ronon. Several of the scientists were being less helpful. After the last argument, between two botanists, he had decided to sneak upstairs. He had found a quiet spot and just closed his eyes against the world. It was days like this that made him wish he'd never heard of Atlantis.

Deep down, Sheppard knew his quiet moment couldn't last. As military commander, it was his job to keep a hold on situations like this. He had to keep everybody safe, even if that meant stopping fights between Atlantis personnel. _Or_, his brain whispered with a flash of inspiration, _get Ronon to do it_. He had to admit, the plan had some merit, even if he couldn't follow through with it. Zelenka had been running around looking harassed for hours, and Sheppard had to make sure he could work without undue interference.

"Colonel Sheppard?"

He groaned. "That didn't last long."

Zelenka looked confused. He recovered, and gestured back the way he'd come. " We have something you should see."

Sheppard followed him reluctantly to the conference room. Woolsey and the rest of the science team were already in their seats, waiting. He sat down and focused himself. Zelenka had set up a large screen, showing a map of Atlantis. The locked-down doors appeared in red. It looked like the map had a bad case of chicken-pox. Zelenka darted round to the front. From his too-wide eyes to the oddly jerky limbs, Sheppard guessed the scientist had been drinking far too much caffeine. He wondered if the predilection was bred into scientists, remembering all the times he'd dealt with a wired Rodney McKay.

Zelenka stood next to the map, bouncing on his heels. "OK. You see that Atlantis has been reduced to this small area." A waved hand indicated the control room. "It mimics quarantine. It is possible that the command actually comes from the city."

"It would explain why we haven't been able to identify any foreign influence on the command or the console."

Another scientist stood up, joining his colleague at the front. Sheppard recognized him as Doctor Voronin. The Russian-American had been part of the second wave of Atlantis personnel. He was quiet, and oddly invisible, but as far as the Colonel knew, good at his job.

Voronin continued. "All indications are that the command was not entered by anyone who had recent contact with the console."

"What about someone playing engineer who _didn't_ have recent contact with the console?"

"During the time of the Ancients? It's possible, but we think the command originates with a defence programme designed by them."

Zelenka took over. "Essentially, we believe that Atlantis is overreacting to a perceived threat."

The earlier brief urge to return to a simpler time when the most difficult decision John Sheppard had to make was which bit of snow to land on returned in force. He leant forward in his seat, fixing the Czech scientist with an irritated look.

"You said Atlantis had something like an immune system. Are you telling us the city has a goddamned _cold_?" Sheppard snapped.

Zelenka glared back. "If cold can shut down doors, stargate, Jumper bay – and eventually, every system in the city – then, yes."

Woolsey cleared his throat. The room fell silent. Though the city's inhabitants had been largely underwhelmed by the idea of the IOA's man running Atlantis, they had found a new respect for him after a tough inaugural week. Woolsey's command decisions had led to Keller's life being saved. Sheppard knew he wouldn't forget that. He imagined it was the same for the others.

"How do we fix it?"

"That's the other problem." Voronin said. "We're not sure that we can."

Sheppard didn't think the room could get quieter, but the silence was deafening now. A pall hung over them.

"And the problem is?"

"By shutting off a section of the database containing the defense programme, we can isolate the problem, and fix it from a specific point." Zelenka said. "On the _other side _of the city."

Woolsey's expression spoke volumes. Sheppard wondered if he was regretting his own decision to take the job as leader of the city. It had certainly given the poor guy a baptism of fire.

* * *

The Major resisted the temptation to sit down. He didn't want to spend the next few hours resting next to a dead body that would soon start to decompose. The smell of acrid smoke, dust and blood was already making his nausea worse. Instead, he started searching for his radio. It had occurred to him to look for it before, but not having the strength, Lorne had been forced to wait till the world stopped doing an impression of a carousel. He pushed himself away from the ground, swaying wildly. The dead body stared up at him with open eyes. It was _creepy_.

Staggering away from the corpse left him with few options. Lorne headed for his previous resting place. He winced at his own internal terminology. It sounded far too much like a grave. The Major placed a firm hand on the large rock and started to lower himself down to the ground.

Pain shot through his head. Lorne doubled over, hands tight to his temples. His knees hit the ground first. The Major crumpled into a heap. Agony dominated everything. The pain danced behind his eyeballs, building pressure. Lorne bit back a scream. He held his breath as it slowly faded, to a manageable roar. The ground was reassuringly stable. It stayed still as Lorne prised open his eyelids, one by one. He swallowed back the urge to throw up. Gradually, the nausea faded too. He took a deep breath, followed by several more.

"God." Lorne choked. "That – was not good."

Out of nowhere, the thought which had been plaguing him all this time, flashed across his mind. A voice and a face appeared, with no name. It was trying its best not to complain, but failing. Lorne's face drained completely of colour. He rushed to his feet, ignoring his head and his ribs and looked around frantically.

"Doctor Beckett?" he called, afraid of what he might find. "Carson, can you hear me?"


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer - Not mine.

A/N - OK, this chapter is very far from perfect, and I'd rather have delayed it, but if I do, I'll never get the rest of it done. Therefore here it is. For the person to whom I faithfully promised a sneaky peek - my sieve like brain has managed to forget who you are. Huge apologies. By way of apology, I will send you TWO updates, (for the next two chapters). In the meantime - and sorry it's so late - please read, enjoy and review. Merci.

* * *

Rodney bit his lip, fighting back the tears that threatened to roll down his face. His eyes burned with the effort. The rescue crews had been working all night, with artificial light to guide them. When the early hours arrived, with no sign of the handful of missing persons, the noise had started to die down. Now they were talking about recovery rather than rescue.

The scientist thought his chest might burst. He wished he could say the feeling of hopelessness was alien to him; but like so many things about the Pegasus Galaxy, it was often a millstone around his genius neck. Rodney shifted uncomfortably. He had found a spot to sit, against the cool wall of a badly damaged house. It was just feet from Lawrence, who had taken up a permanent post at the fence. Rodney rubbed at his eyes. He had been unable to sleep. Now his limbs felt heavy, and his back ached fiercely from sitting against the hard bricks all night. He knew that Lawrence was keeping a close eye on him.

Thomas had returned some time in the early hours. He had been breathless and wide-eyed; and notably, minus backup. Rodney hadn't bothered asking what had happened. Thomas' rapid-fire explanation was enough. Lawrence had managed to get the young man to calm down enough so that he might get a proper grasp of the situation, but Rodney had simply walked away and retaken his spot against the wall.

Just feet away from him, Hadley's body was being tightly wrapped by two local women. It was a mark of respect, not to mention the advantage of hygiene. Rodney couldn't tear his eyes away. The body was framed on one side by the chaos going on beyond him. Part of Rodney's brain idly compared the frantic activity at the blast site with the stillness of Hadley's corpse.

"Hey."

He jumped violently. "Uh – hey."

"Poor kid." Thomas said.

"Yeah."

They fell awkwardly silent, though neither of them cared enough under the circumstances to struggle for small talk. Thomas shot the scientist a sideways glance. He felt responsible, as all the soldiers and Marines did, for the civilians. He might have dwelt on that for longer, but for a hand landing on his shoulder. Lawrence sat down heavily.

"Any news?" Thomas asked.

"Another body. Young woman."

Rodney half-listened to the murmured conversation. He had the idea that they talked about the death so evident in front of them in order to keep their minds from the deaths possible beyond Hadley's body.

"Any idea what was wrong with the stargate?"

His ears, despite his unrelenting misery, perked up at that. If Rodney could not have his friends back, then he just wanted to go home, where his other friends would be able to at least share the burden of grief.

"No. I checked out the DHD. Nothing wrong at this end."

Rodney looked up sharply. He knew Thomas to be a smart guy – not the kind of man who mistook a broken DHD for a working one. "There's something wrong with Atlantis."

"That's our best guess."

"We're stuck here."

"Till they fix it." Lawrence caught the look of despair on the scientist's face. "Zelenka will be on it."

It was a measure of how badly Rodney was feeling that he did not point out his superior genius. The trio sat in awkward silence, watching as a young woman arrived to apply another set of wrappings to the body of a young man they had all liked and respected.

"Hadley was a good guy." Thomas said.

Lawrence grunted. "Yeah."

"Didn't deserve this."

"Nobody deserves this."

Rodney muttered something under his breath, which sounded suspiciously like – "I can think of a few people." Lawrence elected to ignored him. Seeing that his commanding officer was willing to let it go, Thomas followed suit. He liked the physicist anyway, despite all his less-than-charming qualities. Thomas sobered, looking down at the body neatly laid on a white sheet. Hadley had liked McKay too.

"How old was he?" McKay asked.

The question took Thomas off-guard, but he managed to answer eventually. "Twenty four. His birthday was last week."

McKay nodded sharply. He dragged himself to shaky feet and stalked away. Thomas made to go after him, but found a burly arm blocking his path. It wouldn't budge. The young man looked up at his boss.

"Let him be. Beckett and Lorne are still in there somewhere." Lawrence said.

"You think they're alive?"

With a heavy sigh, Lawrence turned away. He didn't need to say anymore. It was perfectly clear what he thought about their two missing men. Thomas didn't push for an answer.

* * *

His head was spinning. Standing upright again had been a mistake. Lorne's headache had returned with vigour, and the dizziness was making him feel nauseous. Again. The space seemed to be getting smaller. The Major had never suffered from claustrophobia, but he was starting to really understand the concept. _It's the concussion_, Lorne said bitterly, to himself. _It's the concussion_. The words had become a bizarre mantra, keeping him awake and moving, muttered under his breath so that he could keep going against the odds.

The Major staggered against another rock. He was ready to slump down and berate himself for so carelessly losing a man who had not long been returned to his friends. It would be hard on them. Lorne let his head fall into his hands. Just as the self-recrimination began, a flash of waxy-white caught the edge of his vision. Lorne froze.

He pushed himself away from the rock. The bitter tiredness was gone. His heart thudded hard against his ribcage. The words of comfort forgotten, Lorne dropped to his knees. The disturbing colour belonged to a hand. It was roughly where Beckett had been sitting when the explosion had rocked the café. He couldn't quite allow himself to believe. Reaching out slowly, Lorne gave it a chance. Tugging on the hand had no effect. He licked his lips. The Major couldn't remember feeling so nervous about anything before. He extended his hand further, and placed two fingers across the wrist.

"Please, please, please…" he muttered to himself.

It bore a weak but consistent hearbeat. The hand was alive, which meant that its owner was alive, at least for now. Lorne had his hopes up, but he was focused. It didn't matter who the hand belonged to. Whoever it was, he considered himself responsible for keeping them alive until help came. From the sounds outside his private hellhole, Lorne figured they weren't too far away.

He removed a few rocks, careful not to disturb the teetering pile. There was no sense in killing a man by trying to save him. The Major brushed aside a thick layer of dirt. A shock of black hair appeared. His heart was ready to leap from his throat. Lorne lay down on his stomach, unable to get a closer look from any other vantage point. He winced at the pain in his chest. It was soon forgotten.

He looked at the bruised, bloody face, and closed his eyes. "Son of a bitch!" Lorne laughed hysterically. "Son of a _goddamned_ bitch!"

Beckett's features had been marred by the explosion. He couldn't tell whether the damage was superficial or not. Lorne was willing to bet the real damage was still hidden under the rubble; but it was unmistakably the doctor.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer - Not mine

A/N - A very quick update, and I'll warn you, though I've checked it, I may have missed a few things. As always, read, enjoy, review. Chapters 8 and 9 aren't yet written, and probably won't be up for a few days. Gracias.

* * *

Teyla had learnt to deal with a great number of things that she had at first found strange about the new inhabitants of Atlantis. In fact, she had grown used to many of them, even going so far as to find some of the more…odd… behaviours amusing. One of the few that still irked the Athosian was their habit of bickering at the most inopportune times. Currently, she waited as Woolsey received reports of yet another disagreement between the "crew".

"Tell them-" he began. "I-" Whoever was at the other end of the earpiece seemed to be giving Woolsey a migraine.

She rolled her eyes, and turned to the nearest person she trusted. To his credit, Doctor Zelenka didn't even flinch.

"Radek."

He knew that tone. Many women had used that tone with him before. "What?"

"Could you take Torren for a moment?"

He managed to look flattered and terrified at the same time. For her sanity, Teyla ignored the latter. She handed over Torren, who was starting to look upset at all the noise. Zelenka took her son with nervous care.

"You will be fine, Radek. I will be back soon." Teyla said. Stepping away from the scientist, she took pity on Atlantis' commander. "Mr Woolsey. Is there anything I can do to help?"

He looked up with an expression of immense relief. "Yes. Please find Ronon and persuade him not to teach two poorly behaved Marines a lesson they richly deserve." Woolsey caught the surprised look on her face. "Even I have a line, Miss Emmagen."

Zelenka shooed her out of the door with a smile on his face. It struck the Athosian that her boy had become remarkably comfortable with him. It was all the more interesting given that Radek – though a good friend – did not have much contact with Torren. Shaking that irrelevant, but intriguing, thought aside, Teyla hurried down the stairs into the gateroom.

It was humid and overcrowded. She loosened her shirt. No wonder tempers were fraying. Some of the city's more sensible inhabitants were handing out bottles of water. Teyla accepted one gratefully. She took a long swig, before replacing the cap, and passing the rest to an overheated botanist. It was essential that everyone remain properly hydrated.

The trouble Woolsey had been referring to was easy to find. A large circle of people had formed around it. Teyla walked into the centre to find Ronon growling at a pair of sprawled Marines.

"Hey Teyla."

"Ronon." That single word carried a great deal of disapproval.

It got his attention. He turned to look at her, finding Teyla looking at him with a stern expression and folded arms.

"They were badmouthing Zelenka."

One of the Marines – unwisely – muttered something under his breath. Teyla fixed him with an icy gaze. "Is this true?"

He shook his head. "No, Ma'am."

"Yes it is! I heard you!"

The disembodied voice, emerging from somewhere in the crowd was all she needed. Teyla strode forward and grabbed the offending Marine by his collar. She dragged him to his feet. For his part, Ronon smirked and took a bottle of water offered to him by an admiring soldier.

"Doctor Zelenka is the best hope we have for regaining control of the city. He cannot be held responsible for this. Is that clear?" she snarled.

"It was probably him or McKay messing around that got us into this trouble in the first place!"

"That is nonsense."

"Oh yeah? Well, I say we go ask him."

In a flash, Ronon was at her side, picking up the second Marine. If she had been paying it any thought, Teyla might have decided he was the sensible one. Keeping his mouth shut was all that had saved him up to now.

The first Marine had no such sense. "I say we go up there and demand some answers."

"And if you don't get the answers you want?" Teyla asked, sweetly.

Just as Zelenka had recognized her tone before, Ronon picked up on it now. A few of the onlookers did too, and took steps back.

"We'll get them." the Marine said.

Ronon snorted. "Oh yeah? And who's gonna fix the problem after you do that?"

The room fell silent. Even the two trouble-makers had nothing to say to that. Their few supporters melted away into the crowd. Up on the balcony, Zelenka watched with relief as Teyla and Ronon expertly calmed things down. He had been getting worried about watching his back – he might have known it was covered already.

Zelenka smiled at Torren. "Your mother is a very clever woman."

* * *

All emotion forgotten, Lorne dug frantically through the rubble. He was like a man possessed. Although, given some of the things that had happened in the Pegasus Galaxy so far, he decided that he didn't like that analogy. The Major knew he was risking bringing the whole building down on top of them. At first he had been very careful, just clearing enough of the rubbish to get a clearer look at Beckett.

Then the wheezing breaths had started, followed shortly by a choking, bubbling sound that had made Lorne's blood run cold. The doctor's lips were starting to turn an ugly shade of blue. It had just been a matter of tearing through the first, heavy layer of debris after that.

Lorne threw aside a chunk of wood thicker than his forearm. He lay on his stomach again, to get a better look at the mess Beckett had gotten himself into. He squinted in the poor light. By his estimation, several hours – perhaps as many as twelve or fourteen, given that he'd been unconscious – had gone by. Lorne swept some of the dirt from his friend's face. He looked like a mannequin.

Dragging him out was even more of a problem than digging him out. Lorne knew he was supposed to leave Beckett in-situ. God knew the doctor had drilled that into them all himself. But this was an emergency. The shock of being released from the crushing pressure of the debris might kill him, but choking to death on his own blood would definitely kill him. Lorne dragged Beckett out of the mess, and away from the spot that had so nearly become his grave.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you, Doc." Lorne said. His hands scrabbled to check for a pulse. "I'm not sure I'm cut out for looking after McKay's best pal. Any idea how mad he's going to be?"

He didn't really expect Beckett to answer. The talking was simply to distract himself. Lorne knew that the doctor's harsh breathing could mean internal injuries. He took a deep breath and felt along Beckett's ribcage, quickly finding a place that gave.

"You really do know how to get yourself into trouble, huh?"

Lorne sat back on his heels. He tried to think of something that he might be do for Beckett, to make the other man more comfortable. Without a medical kit, and with no visible makeshift tools though, the Major was stuck. He could do nothing except pray that help came soon. That, and cross his fingers that Beckett remained more or less stable.

"Keep breathing for me, Doc. I don't want to have to explain this to Colonel Sheppard."

* * *

Zelenka outlined his plan with the air of someone who had not enjoyed a good night's sleep in quite some time. Given that the poor guy had been dealing with every problem under the sun – from a sudden shortage of bottled water to the obvious issues with the doors and the stargate – Sheppard was amazed he was still standing. The angry Atlanteans had picked out the Czech scientist as their figurehead of hate, as though he had caused the city's shutdown himself.

Fortunately for Zelenka, Ronon had been spending quite a bit of time persuading the more vocal and aggressive of those against Zelenka that they were wrong. Sheppard had kept half an eye on the ex-Runner, but if he was truthful, he wanted to cheer him on.

"So we use the repair tunnels."

Sheppard winced guiltily. He ignored the look that Teyla shot him. She knew very well that his attention had wondered. Evidently the tiredness affecting Zelenka was spreading. It had not helped that the oxygen levels in the gateroom were diminished, and the temperature was higher than ever. The only saving grace was that many of the biggest troublemakers had worn themselves out, and were now sleeping.

"Run that by me again, Doc."

Zelenka shifted Torren to his other arm. The boy had refused to sleep for anyone else, and out of desperation, Teyla had persuaded him to keep hold of her son. "Essentially, Atlantis has a series of low tunnels inside some of the major walls. We use these to make our way through Atlantis to place where we can fix this."

"Like in Star Trek." Sheppard said.

"A little, Colonel. There's – just one problem."

"What's that?"

Woolsey spoke up with a weary voice. "It's incredibly dangerous."

Somehow, Sheppard felt he shouldn't have bothered to ask. "Isn't it always?"

"So it would seem."

Zelenka interrupted them by shushing Torren, who had woken up at the sound of so many voices. "Quiet now, quiet." He said. The scientist caught the smirk threatening at the corner of Sheppard's mouth, but chose to ignore it. Today he was providing a master-class in self control – hitting his computer aside. "I will go."

"Can you not tell one of us how to do this?" Teyla asked.

He swore loudly in Czech. "Would you ask Rodney that question?" Apparently, his self-control stretched only so far.

"I-"

"No, I cannot tell you how to reverse engineer a process originally designed to protect the city. Designed by idiots who didn't put in proper fail-safes against stupid virus like this one." Zelenka ranted. In his right arm, Torren slept. Sheppard watched the boy wistfully, wishing he could do the same. "Unless you have many years of engineering experience with Ancient technology that you have hidden?"

The room fell utterly silent, save for the sound of Radek Zelenka's ragged breathing. He had not lost control like that with anyone except Rodney McKay, and everyone had been there.

"I apologise. I simply wished to check." Teyla said. Her own self-control was still in place.

Zelenka sighed. "I am sorry. I should not have shouted."

"I will accompany you, Doctor Zelenka."

Sheppard held up a hand lazily. "Me too, Doc." _Although, I really hope you don't shout any more_, he thought. _Angry Radek is pretty scary_.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer - not mine.

A/N - I had originally written this chapter and hated it. Then I got a second job, and RL sort of got in the way. Writing's not exactly been at the forefront. Still, it was bugging me, that I had left this and other stories unfinished. Then came a gentle nudge from **Moonlight83** about this story in particular, and I decided to at the very least finish this chapter. So you have **Moonlight83** to thank for that!

Anyways - I can't promise that the rest of this, or other stories, will be out soon, but I hope you enjoy this chapter, and that it clears a few things up for you.

* * *

Ronon trudged along the corridor. It looked exactly like the twenty or so others that had come before it. Gray, smooth walls, ceiling and floor, with the acrid smell of burnt wires in the air. They had been walking for half an hour, and judging by the irritated muttering coming from the leader of their group, they were still some distance from their destination. Since leaving the gateroom, Zelenka had said very little. Once, Ronon would have preferred that. Now he found himself missing the constant chatter that normally went hand-in-hand with Atlantis' myriad scientists.

With Zelenka at the front, and Sheppard by his side, Ronon had been left to walk with Corporal Voronin. The Russian was notoriously prickly. Rodney had described him in much blunter terms. Their brief, disastrous trip to a "farming" planet had resulted in Voronin flat-out refusing to help McKay again without orders to force him into it. Ronon had always wanted to know what happened, but neither of them would talk about it.

He glanced up at Sheppard. The Colonel had looked unsettled ever since the gate room, and had been almost as quiet as the other two. Ronon was no talker, but this wasn't normal for the Atlanteans. He scowled. They had ruined him, he was sure of it. Shifting his gaze to Voronin, Ronon caught the Corporal's eye. He jerked his head towards the others, letting the young man know he was walking alone for a few minutes.

Sheppard's face was suspiciously blank. "What?"

"Did Teyla tell you about the fight?"

"The Marines? Yeah. I'll deal with them later."

"Where were you?"

Ronon had learnt to act alone during his time as a Runner, but he did remember what military life was like, and he'd been sure that Sheppard would reprimand the Marines in short order.

The Colonel shifted uncomfortably. "I – was busy. Anyway, you looked like you had them handled."

Just behind them, Voronin snorted. He managed to look completely innocent when they looked round. Years of practice had perfected the expression. It had come in useful in the Ancient city. Atlantis came up with far too many opportunities to laugh at superior officers for his liking.

"So, why weren't you there?" Ronon pressed. The Satedan ignored the fact that he' d been enjoying teaching the Marines a lesson.

"OK. I was stopping Lennox and Utaka from killing each other."

Ronon's brow furrowed. He was pretty good with names and faces, but those two eluded him.

"Scientists." Voronin supplied helpfully. "Entomologists." He made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, but Sheppard was faced with a blank expression when he glared back at the younger man.

Ronon's mind rolled the unfamiliar word around till it clicked. "The _bug_ guys?"

Widely known as the least compatible colleagues on Atlantis, Lennox and Utaka – Northern Irish and Nigerian respectively – ran the entomology department like their own private domain. McKay had never cared enough about their work to bother them, and owing to Sheppard's near-conversion into an Iratus bug, they were also left alone by the rest of the city. Their small but dedicated staff were often to be found complaining about the pair, though they wouldn't stand for anyone else doing the same. Lennox and Utaka were the best.

Both men were small, lean and quiet, Ronon remembered, which was probably why he hadn't recognized the names at first. They were quiet, except for when they were screaming at each other. Lennox knew more swear words than Sheppard had realised existed, the Colonel confided once, after a really spectacular blow-out. Utaka had a healthily-developed capacity for revenge. Their explosive partnership made for good stories. For his part, Sheppard tried to leave them be. They were _bug_ guys, after all.

"They were really mad at each other."

"Sheppard, they're tiny."

"Lennox broke Utaka's nose."

Ronon opened his mouth to mock his friend when Zelenka's slow progress halted. He walked right into the scientist, just catching the Czech as he was about to fall. Zelenka straightened his glasses and nodded tersely. He was still in a foul mood.

"We nearly there?" Ronon asked.

Zelenka snorted. "Not quite." He waved a hand at a corridor leading off into pitch darkness. "Down there."

The quartet peered into the corridor, trying to make something out in the inky blackness. Sheppard rocked on his heels, muttering under his breath. He fished out a pair of night-vision goggles from his jacket pocket. The others followed suit. It looked just like all the others. The military men silently reshuffled, so that Zelenka was in the middle. Just in case.

Sheppard stepped forward first, and sighed. "Dark, mysterious corridor? _Of course_ we need to go down there…"

* * *

Teyla lay a gentle hand on her son's crib. He was sleeping peacefully now, although Zelenka's departure had nearly provoked a tantrum. She smiled absent-mindedly at Torren. The intricately carved wooden crib was perfect for him. It had been made by a group of Marines. Her smile widened at the memory of them presenting it to her, blushing and embarrassed. She had appreciated the gesture very much. Her smile faltered. One of the trio was dead now – yet another victim of the Wraith. Glancing down at Torren, Teyla was reminded just how lucky she was to be alive to see him.

They were ensconced in Woolsey's office, safely away from the chaos in the gateroom. Things had deteriorated after the team had left. With no acting-Chief Scientist, no Colonel, no fierce Russian Corporal, and (perhaps most significantly) no Ronon, the troublemakers had begun to make themselves heard. Even her own efforts had been wasted. Still, Teyla mused, the last thing she had expected was for Woolsey himself to appear on the balcony with a face like thunder. He had never looked more like a leader. Teyla had always felt that hardships defined a person. It seemed as though Mr. Woolsey was passing some sort of test. The Atlantis personnel had given over a grudging respect for their civilian commander, and for now at least, things were quiet.

"They'll be fine."

Teyla looked up, surprised at the intrusion. "I should be with them."

Woolsey made his way past a teetering stack of supplies, and sat down in his chair. "I happen to disagree." His eyes flickered first to the office door, and then to the crib. "You are needed here."

His tone was firm, although Teyla recognized the attempt to placate her behind it. She offered a weak smile. In the crib below her, Torren's eyes opened. His happy gurgle caught her attention. Teyla found herself glancing back up at Woolsey with a thankful expression, suddenly almost glad that she had been left behind. _Almost._

* * *

Lorne's brain felt scattered. His thoughts were all over the place, and the worst of it was that he knew he wasn't thinking straight. The Major had received extensive medical training. It was all part of the Stargate programme – whichever galaxy you happened to be in. Right now though, he was having trouble remembering the basics of CPR. Lorne glanced down at Beckett's prone body. He really hoped that he wouldn't need that. In his current state, he wouldn't have trusted himself to walk in a straight line, let alone save a life.

"It'll be OK, Doc." He said, although Beckett was still unconscious. The sound echoed in the chamber. Lorne glanced around nervously. "We'll be fine. They'll come get us."

He looked away for a moment, frustrated that he couldn't get his friend and colleague the help he needed. Beckett had always treated him with respect. It felt like an insult to be unable to return the favour. He patted the unconscious man's shoulder. It was one of the few parts of Beckett that Lorne was sure had not been injured in the explosion.

"We'll be OK."

Just as Lorne was preparing himself to do what he could for Beckett, the doctor's body twitched. Blue eyes flickered open. They were dazed and glassy. A low moan came from his mouth. It was guttural; Lorne shivered at the sound.

"Doc? Doc, it's OK." He repeated. It wasn't, and Lorne was pretty sure not even the most gullible small child would have been convinced. "Don't talk."

The order was unnecessary. Beckett could not have spoken if he'd wanted to.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer – not mine.

A/N – OK, so this chapter is pretty crappy in my humble opinion. However, I have been writing it on and off since slightly before I posted the last one (so quite some time!) and I'm so stuck that I can't see it improving. Also, I'm sick of it, and if I don't get rid of it now, I'll end up abandoning the story completely. Gah! Anyways, here it is. And thanks for reading.

* * *

Sheppard leant against the doorway, trying to distract himself from utter boredom with every foul-mouthed song he could remember from basic training. It had been a long time ago, but a few of the dirtier ones stuck in your mind. It didn't seem right somehow that Atlantis' military leader was left guarding the door from a thus-far non-existent possible intruder. He glanced back over his shoulder at the young Russian soldier. Voronin's extensive computer training and natural ability with the Atlantis systems had made him an obvious choice for the mission. Not to mention, Sheppard was sure McKay had instructed Zelenka not to let him anywhere near systems that so much as looked sideways at something vital.

He yawned widely. Knowing that this task was important didn't make it any less boring. Two run-throughs of 'Ten Bottles of Beer on the Wall' (he'd run out of dirty songs) barely made a dent. It didn't help that the Atlanteans had, as always, decorated the corridor in battleship gray. It was only distinguishable by the dubious virtue of having almost no lighting.

Somewhere in the room, a radio crackled. _"Hello? Am I the only one paying attention to major crisis?"_

"ИДИОТ."

Sheppard couldn't resist calling lightly over his shoulder. "Problem, Corporal?"

The younger man winced. "No sir." He said.

The grin spreading across his CO's face suggested that Sheppard knew otherwise. It also suggested that he might understand more Russian than he had been letting on. Voronin groaned inwardly. All those clandestine conversations….

"_Hello? Is anybody interested in this problem?"_

Sheppard found himself fervently hoping that Ronon was staying calm, given Zelenka's world-class impersonation of Rodney. He offered the young Corporal a conspiratorial look.

"Your secret's safe with me."

"He is being an a-"

"But he's the best." Sheppard said gently. "So listen to him."

Voronin sighed. "Yes sir." He tapped the radio again. "Awaiting further instructions."

"_Ah, so there you are."_

With practiced ease, the Colonel ignored the rest of the tense conversation. He would be glad when Rodney was back. It would do Zelenka's blood pressure some good.

"_No, no, no! Orange button, then code!"_

The scientist's instructions had been vague, at first, directing them to find a room with one large console and screen, as well as several other, smaller consoles. Exactly the type of room the Ancients specialized in designing. Fortunately it had only taken Sheppard a couple of tries to hit upon the right place. He had the horrible feeling that this skill of understanding scientists even when they were making no sense stemmed directly from spending too much time with one Rodney McKay. The Colonel shook his head. He would have to remember to organize some Marine-only time. Sheppard sighed heavily. There were times when he had to work hard to recall all the reasons that he liked being stationed on Atlantis.

"How's it going?"

Voronin didn't look up. "OK."

There was no intonation to be read. Just a thickly accented voice with a flat tone that Sheppard couldn't read. He didn't like that – it was one of the reasons he had always felt uncomfortable around the younger man. The Colonel just didn't understand him. Even Ronon was more talkative.

A thought occurred to Sheppard. "Hey, you related to Doctor Voronin?" he asked. His eyes flickered, catching something in his peripheral vision. _Just a shadow, John!_

"Cousin."

The silence stretched out in front of them.

"Major Lorne mentioned you liked sports."

"Football." Before his CO could jump enthusiastically into conversation, Voronin shook his head. "Not that kind of football. Soccer."

"Oh. Right." _Had to be one of the few sports I know almost nothing about!_

Sheppard was ready to give small-talk one final try when a loud whining sound caught his attention. The Colonel whirled round. Voronin's hands were dancing madly across the console. His face was stricken. Just as Sheppard started forward, he shook his head. Voronin's mouth opened, mouthing something his CO could not hear. Sheppard found himself flying backwards, into the corridor wall. The last image fixed into his brain as his eyes slid shut was of Voronin's body, no longer rigid with military tension, sprawled by the open doorway.


End file.
